Serendipity
by MoparGirl1
Summary: On hiatus. The year was 1943. The backdrop, a world at war. Men were going away to fight and women were forging a new destiny. They met and ridiculousness ensued, she never expected to hear from him, despite the measure she might have taken. He didn't expect more than that one chance meeting. They both fought the war in their own way. He with a gun and her in silk stockings.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer. I don't own any of the Marvel characters or the universe they come from, only my oc's.**

 **Author's Note: This story arrived in my head one day and the muse was the strongest I've had in sometime so I followed it. This has been a fun journey so far and as outlandish as this whole thing may come across, it's only meant to be fun! So keeping that in mind, I hope this idea amuses all of you as much as me!**

 **A special thanks to usa123! Without your help I'd still be pulling my hair out!**

 **And a huge thanks to all the rest of you who have been my crash test dummies with these first few chapters, thanks so much! I won't name you all! You know who you are! Haha!**

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 **Camden Town, London, 1943.**

* * *

Camden Head, situated at the corner of Camden Road and Pratt Street, a little over two miles north of the heart of London, was packed as usual. The crowd, mostly made up of members of the Allied Forces, all turned out in some degree of uniform was a lively bunch. They all crowded into the space and it made for an interesting atmosphere. One of personal boasting and good-natured banter and camaraderie.

Bucky's regiment had only been in England for a few weeks, but it was long enough to learn that Camden Town was the place to go if you had a pass.

The first time Bucky had had a night off post was the week after he'd reached London. Addam's, one of the men he gone through basic with at Camp Wolter's and was now in the same company with, had asked around about where to go if they wanted a little fun.

Wanting in on that fun and a drink, Bucky'd gone out with some of the men from his company and a couple others and this was where they had ended that first night and again tonight.

The first night they'd arrived here, the rain had been falling in a heavy drizzle, much like it was now, turning the water brown as it washed dirt from the streets and flooded the gutters. Another similarity to his first excursion here was him sitting at a small, overcrowded table, in an uncomfortable chair, listening to the banter being thrown around.

The first topic of this evening had been yesterday's forty-mile hike through the English countryside in the rain, where they had all been dressed in full regimental gear. The men then discussed how much they disliked their C.O. and, somewhere along the way, the conversation had turned toward the topic of women. Women were something almost every soldier had a story about and, whenever there was newcomer around, the topic was certain to come up.

Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan, more commonly known by his friends as Dum Dum or simply Dugan, was the loudest of the group, the largest and most entertaining. Jolly was the best way to describe him really, with his round, rosy cheeks, friendly disposition and that certain twinkle he got in his mossy colored eyes. He had a quick laugh, a crude sense of humor and was always the first to make a lewd comment or crack a questionable joke. Tonight, he was the one that brought the present topic up.

Three of the men from Buckys squad had joined Dugan, Himself, and the others at Camden Head. John Wilson, a Jersey boy from Bayonne and Teddy Fletcher from the Bronx had eagerly shared their stories with Dugan, but the kid, Sampson Mcreavy, wasn't as eager.

Sam had been on the same ship that had carried Bucky across the Atlantic to London. Mcreavy was short in stature, with blond hair, blue eyes and the fiery disposition only a little man could have; he reminded Bucky of Steve. Needless to say, Bucky had taken a liking to him almost instantly.

Bucky had found that fiery disposition only lasted so far, however. Once the topic of woman came up Sam turned shy or more accurelty if he was teased about woman he turned shy.

The kid had never quite found his sea legs on the voyage to London and, when some of the men on board had teased him about playing sick so he could spend time with the nurses, Sam had clammed up. Shy as he was about the topic of woman, Sammy made the perfect target for Dugan's teasing. All Dugan had done was ask the kid if he had a girl and he'd turned red as beet. As if he'd just realized what a mistake turning bright red had been, Sam quickly said he did have a girl and her name was May. But after his embarrassed response it was too late, his fate was sealed. There was no way Dugan wouldn't have some good-natured fun with him now that he'd seen how easily embarrassed Sam was.

At present, Bucky was leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest and a pint of ale in his right hand. His gaze was on Sam, who sat with Dugan's beefy arm draped around his shoulder. Watching the blush that colored Sam's face, the grin on Bucky's lips grew. "You at least kissed the girl before you left?" Dugan asked playfully, around the cigar he held clamped between his teeth.

The smoke from Dugan's cigar adding to the heavy cloud that hung about the room as he pulled the kid closer. When the only response Sam gave was turning red clear to the tops of his ears as he gulped down a large drink of ale, Dugan grinned even wider and nudged the boy in the ribs. "Well, did ya, Sammy boy?"

Sam's eyes grew large and he sputtered and coughed on the drink he'd just taken.

Everyone at the table except Sam laughed.

Taking the cigar from his mouth, Dugan's attention traveled to the near empty mug in Sam's hand and he said, "I think what you need is a refill." Looking at his own drained glass, he said, "Well I'll be damned, so do I." His voice was slightly bemused, like it was shocking that his glass was empty.

Apparently, forgetting about Sam, Dugan's arm slipped from around Sam's shoulder and he turned in his seat, empty pint glass in hand. "Barkeep!" he shouted.

When the gray-haired man behind the bar didn't pay him any mind, Dugan shoved his chair back, scrapping its legs against the wooden floor and stood. The sudden upward motion must have caught him off guard for he staggered slightly and shook his head as if to clear it. Then he looked around the room, lifted his glass and called the Barkeep again. When his second attempt to gain the man's attention was met with little more success than the first, he tried a different approach.

"Listen up boys!" Dugan announced loudly, wobbling again before he continued, "I got something to say!"

The pub grew quiet as all eyes turned toward him. At the same time, a slightly confused look crossed Dugan's ruddy features, like maybe he'd forgotten exactly why he stood up. Bucky chuckled slightly as he watched.

Someone called from the direction of the bar, "we're waiting Yank!" in a voice heavily laden with a British accent. Another called out, "sit down you wanker, you're drunk."

The last comment got Dugan's attention and his head snapped in the general direction of the voice. "I'll have you know, I can drink anyone of you's British sons a bitches, under the table any day of the week," he shot back, lifting his whiskey glass and sticking his pinky out for emphasis.

Laughter filled the room, before Dugan went on, "and just so I can prove it, I'm buying this round!"

A general sound of approval went up in the crowd. Bucky wasn't altogether certain that was the outcome his drunk friend had intended when he stood, but he was apparently content with it now. Dugan turned, then sat down once more, slapping Bucky on the back with his meaty hand as he went. Bucky immediately slumped forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor jarringly as he coughed and choked on the ale in his mouth.

"So what about you, Sarg?" Dugan asked, the last word heavily laden with a suggestive tone.

Bucky rubbed the stinging spot on his shoulder and righted himself in the chair. After the coughing had subsided and he'd managed to swallow, Bucky met Dugan's mischief-filled gaze. "What about what?" he asked, his voice slightly curious, like he hadn't the slightest idea to what Dugan referred, when truthfully, he had a pretty good idea what was coming.

"You gotta have some dame waiting on you—some story to tell."

It wasn't the first time Dugan had asked him some version of that question in the weeks since they had met, but Bucky's response was always the same.

A slight smirk tugged at the edge of Bucky's mouth as he once more leaned back in his chair, balanced it on it back legs, and stretched out his own legs under the table. Aware that several pairs of eyes were now focused on him, he lifted his pint towards his mouth, he took a long slow drink, purposely drawing out the silence.

After he'd swallowed his drink, his gaze shifted back to Dugan once more. "Sorry boys but I don't kiss and tell."

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chance

**Xxx**

* * *

 **Chapter 1. Chance.**

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 **New York City, weeks earlier, the night of the Stark Expo.**

Bucky jumped from the trolley as it slowed, his feet hitting the asphalt with a soft thud, thinking he knew what the night would hold. In fact, he was so certain of it that as his hands went to his military dress hat, adjusting its angle on his head, he hadn't spared a thought too much of anything besides his frustration with Steve and having this last little bit of fun before he shipped out tomorrow.

With a quick glance around, his hands dropped from his hat and tugged down on the hem of his jacket, watching as the girls stepped down from the now-stopped trolley. One was a blonde, the other a brunette; their heads bent close as they spoke to one another, both wearing bright smiles.

Connie reached up and patted her dark curls as the girls moved away from each other, stepping into the glow of a street lamp as she pulled out her compact and lipstick then checked her makeup. After a brief inspection, she put on a bit more lip rouge then tucked the items back inside her purse and smiled excitedly at him. He smiled in answer and offered her his left arm.

Looking down at the excitement on her face made his smile grow. Offering Bonnie his other arm, they turned and made their way down the sidewalk, arm in arm. The jazzy sound of the big band playing inside the brownstone building just down the street grew louder the closer they got. Beside him, Connie squeezed his arm tightly in anticipation and quickened her pace.

To anyone looking at his wide grin and the strut in his step he may have appeared smug. After all, what man wouldn't be completely pleased with himself if he had a pretty dame on each arm and a night of dancing ahead of him, right? One that hadn't just walked off and left his stubborn best friend when the night was still young: the night before he shipped out to war, especially, if that friend had some sort of death wish, that's who.

Setting his irritation aside, and not for the first time since they'd left Steve, he smiled, determined to enjoy the last night he would spend in his own country for God only knew how long. By the time they stepped inside the United Service Organizations building, he'd placed thoughts of Steve in the back of his mind.

It wasn't till later that evening that the unexpected happened. Bucky had been waiting to order drinks near the crowded bar when someone had stumbled into him, pushing him forward. In turn, he'd stumbled into a young woman with short dark red hair, just as she was turning away from the bar. She dropped the drink in her hand and he'd reflexively reached out to steady her just as the glass hit the floor and shattered.

"Gosh, darn it!" She cried.

At the same time he said, "Sorry, miss."

His hands dropped away and she glanced at him briefly, but it was enough for him to see the wry amusement in her dark eyes before they dropped back to the skirt of her green dress, and the liquid splattered all over it and her stocking clad legs. He quickly produced his handkerchief, only to find she already held one in her hand as she dabbed at her skirt. She glanced up at him again, her large brown eyes full of open amusement this time, and took it anyway.

After she snatched his handkerchief away he continued to watch her, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Accident or otherwise, most women would be annoyed or even angry over what he'd just done, not look up at him with laughter in their eyes. Hell, most women wouldn't have cussed, either. Amusement welled in his chest as he waited for her to hand his tissue back.

She righted herself and handed him the handkerchief. That entertained look was still there, but there was also a slight mischievous spark in her brown eyes and turning up one corner of her full red lips when she handed it back to him and belatedly said, "Thank you." Her voice held a hint of amusement and that twinkle in her eyes grew marginally. She made him think she was close to laughing as their gazes held. He opened his mouth to respond in kind, but the Marine he'd vaguely taken note of hovering by her side offered her his arm and led her away.

~ooOoo~

Rose O'Shea was always one looking for a good time. It was a simple philosophy really, but one that was born from not-so-simple things. She had just decided long ago (well, maybe not long ago if one remembered she was only twenty one and only that for a week) to seize whatever excitement life threw her way; just as she learned to laugh and remember no matter how bad things might appear, they could always be worse.

That philosophy and her love of a good time were what had her practically racing to her bedroom to get ready to go out tonight after work. Maxine had asked Rose and Sophie if they wanted to go to the USO when they were starting their shift at the factory this morning and of course they'd agreed.

So here she was, standing beside the packed bar of the recently opened USO club, waiting for her resident dance partner for the night to procure her a drink. In general, spirits were running high and the room seemed alive with a vital pulse. Everywhere, people were talking an laughing, boasting and jesting. It wasn't just the songs and dancing that created the atmosphere, though those things added to it so much as the young soldiers, most of them on the verge of shipping out that filled the room. That same excited energy that charged the people and the air coursed through her own body as she listened to the trio of young women on stage sing the last few words of 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.'

Her gaze passing over the blond head and the chiseled features of the man in the dark blue Marine officers dress uniform standing beside her ordering drinks. The song ended and people began to clap. She clapped herself for a moment watching as the girl's, dressed in USO, red white and blue chorus line outfits, walked off stage. Their garrison caps sitting slightly off center on top of their blond heads and Betty Page type hairstyles, they blew kisses and waved as they went.

The announcer stepped up to the mic, clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as he leaned closer and said "Let's hear it for the Merry Belles, visiting us all the way from Atlanta, G.A.! They may not be the Andrews Sisters, but aren't they a picture."

Another cheer rose up in the crowd as the men voiced their agreement before the announcer went on, "I'd like to take this moment to remind you all that buying war bonds saves lives and made this night possible. Now back to our main attraction for the evening, Billy Compton's 5th Street Brand."

Confidently resting her hip against the bar, she watched the band take its place on the stage, her palm tapping lightly against the cool wood surface of the counter as she impatiently waited for the music to begin. Rose knew she looked good—she hadn't worn her best emerald cap-sleeve dress for nothing—and she was ready for the night to truly begin.

The highly polished hardwood dance floor in the center of the room was crowded with people all dancing some version of the East Coast Swing or another as the drummer of the band beat out the opening solo of Benny Goodman's 'Sing, Sing, Sing.' Upbeat and lively, the song fit the atmosphere perfectly, and her toes tapped in time to the upbeat tempo.

Truthfully, she was somewhat of a bold creature by nature, but she wasn't quite the woman her affected poise and demeanor projected tonight either. When she was younger, she and her older brother Mick had learned to adopt whatever personas they felt they needed. Life on the streets had taught them early on that such an existence was especially hard on children, and it was made even harder by the Depression. Back then it had been for survival, tonight it was because and just because.

Well, more truthfully it was because of the man that made her his mark the moment she walked through the door, saying all the right things and playing on what she'd once read referred to as 'the softer emotions' of the fairer sex but what Rose had come to think of as most women's natural stupidity.

Rose herself wasn't averse to the dashing cut of a well-built man in olive green, but unlike Maxine and Sophie that wasn't the draw to this particular locale for Rose. It was more the idea of dancing the night away and leaving her cares and worries for tomorrow. Lieutenant Charles Atworth had made it, albeit unwittingly, so much more fun and she'd found herself playing the game along with him; toning down her Five Points accent and emphasizing the social graces seen on the silver screen.

The aforementioned Lieutenant spoke, saying, "Here you go," drawing her attention from the dancers to him as he handed her a glass. Adopting her best doe-eyed look, Rose smiled sweetly up at him. "Thank you," she said, feeling the coolness of the liquid through the glass as she took it from him and raised it to her lips. "Would you mind escorting me to my friends?" She asked after she'd finished taking a sip. "I need a breather."

They were just turning away from the bar when someone stumbled into her, knocking her off-balance slightly. Everything happened so quickly from there she dropped her glass, stumbling backwards into her companion as a pair of hands settled on her arms.

Her gaze instantly dropped down, noting the lemonade splattered all over her skirts before she righted herself. "Gosh, darn it!" she cried, rather loudly.

Not really one to cry over spilt milk or in this case lemonade, amusement filled her, growing when seconds later a voice in her head went tsk, tsk, tsk, and she wondered exactly what the lieutenant would think of her language and the accent that had accompanied it.

"Here, I'll get you something to clean your dress with," the object of her thoughts said, bringing her gaze up, but it wasn't his eyes she met. Rather it was those of the man who had reached out to steady her. Belatedly, she thought he might have spoken to her but the concern in his blue eyes distracted her and made her amusement grow. His hands dropped from her arms, and she looked away, turning her attention back to her dress. Charles' handed her a bar cloth, which she took without a word. Truthfully, she'd forgotten about him and the fact he'd said he'd get her something to clean up with after she'd met the gaze of the other and noted that amusing look of concern in his eyes. Less than a second later, a handkerchief appeared in front of her. Her right eyebrow lifting a little as she took it as well, glancing up as she did so.

It was the same man that had reached out to steady her. She laughed softly, amused by the absurdity of the situation, especially when she noticed the hand offering the second tissue still hadn't moved. She supposed that he couldn't if he wanted his handkerchief back, but really, all this fuss over a little split liquid. The lemonade would wash out, the dress would be fine. After a moment she handed the tissue back to him, saying, "Thank you."

She had to repress the need to laugh. The gleam in his blue eyes mirrored her own, making her think he shared her sense of amusement about the whole thing. And she was quite certain if her escort hadn't pulled her gaze away, she may have lost the battle for composure.

 **Later that night**

Bucky's right hand slipped along the metal railing dividing the stairs that led to the subway tunnel, feeling the rough texture created by years and years of painting over chipped paint against his palm. His pace quickened so he would catch the train; he could hear it even now nearing the station.

They'd left Bonnie at the USO in the company of a friend of hers about an hour and a half ago, then he'd taken Connie home. He'd stayed and visited with her long enough that he'd had to rush to catch the train. He really wasn't a fan of goodbyes, especially drawn out ones.

He was going to go through another round of them in the morning with his younger sister and aunt. Thinking about his sister, his expression softened slightly as his mind drifted back. He'd sat Becca down and talked to her after he'd decided he was going to enlist, being frank with her about his reasons, and she'd told him she understood. Still, it hadn't been an easy decision to make. Both their parents were dead and she was only sixteen and if he let himself think about leaving her too often it ate at him. If it wasn't for his Aunt Catherine taking care of Bec for him, he wouldn't be going.

Connie knew that, and so did Steve. They'd both told him they'd keep an eye out for her once he was gone. He'd asked her to come to the Expo with them tonight, but she'd refused, saying they'd spent everyday since he got home from basic together and that he should just go have some fun and she'd see him in the morning. Now he felt like an ass for not making her come.

As he reached the first landing on the stairs, his thoughts turned back to Connie. He swore sometimes she thought herself Ginger Rogers and him Fred Astaire, the thought made the good-natured smile he'd worn most of the evening pull at his lips once more. Her love for dancing and fun in general was one of the main reasons he'd asked her to come out tonight, instead of one of the other girls he dated on and off. Well, that and he didn't want to be serious tonight; Connie had no interest in being more than friends.

The only thing that could have made this night better was if Steve wouldn't have decided to be his stubborn self and just waited till tomorrow, or better yet gave up the foolish idea of enlisting altogether. Sighing softly, he dismissed the thought and the rush of irritation that came with it.

Stepping down off the stairs and onto the subway platform, his hands slipped into his pockets as he hurried toward the train, watching the passengers simultaneously boarding and departing. A glimpse of dark red curls, in the crowd caught his eye. He watched the woman more closely for a moment; curious to see if it was actually the girl he'd nearly knocked over earlier. He smiled when she turned her head slightly and he saw her profile.

He would have noticed any woman traveling alone this late at night simply because it wasn't safe.

But if he hadn't seen her earlier, if he hadn't placed her in similar circumstances, he may not have paid as much attention and he wouldn't have seen what happened next.

He'd no more than determined the man he saw her with earlier wasn't there when he saw her stumble, bumping into the older gentleman beside her.

The older man reached out a steadying hand, placing it on her arm. That part at least was perfectly normal, he'd done the very same thing a few hours ago. What wasn't normal was the rectangular shape of what he thought might be a man's billfold that she quickly shoved into her pocket as she spoke to the man.

Bucky's steps slowed as he held back, letting the others board the train before him, still shocked by what he had just witnessed. The very idea that she herself was the hood in this instance, left him slack jawed.

The doors began to close and Bucky followed them onto the subway car before they completely shut, just managing to grab a pole to steady himself as the train lurched forward. His gaze immediately went to her where she was seated on a bench a few feet away, the events he'd just seen replaying themselves in his head. She'd stumbled into the man, slipped her hand inside his coat , looked up and smiled at him while excusing herself. The man had even reached out and steadied her while she was stuffing his wallet in her coat pocket and still there hadn't been a visible slip in her composure.

"Bold as brass," he mumbled to himself. Even now, she seemed completely at ease, just as she had at the USO earlier tonight. In fact, besides the slight gleam in her eyes and the faint flush staining her skin, you wouldn't think she had a care in the world, as if it were a completely normal, everyday activity to filch someone's wallet.

The bizarreness of the whole thing still left him at a loss and he knew he wasn't letting her exit the train with the man's wallet, but there were a few minutes between now and when the train would pull into the next station, and part of him was curious. Why, he didn't know. What he should do was take the wallet from her and tell the man what she'd done, but inexplicably, part of him was curious to know what she'd do next. His curiosity growing when moments later she smiled faintly. It wasn't a smug one, it was more of the type that said, "I have a secret."

Watching it and the wry expression that followed it onto her face, made a smirk tug at his own lips.

~ooOoo~

Rose had always known her besetting sin: an impulsive nature. She regretted her behavior as soon as the door slid closed behind her. One minute she'd been shuffling along with the other passengers boarding the train. Amusing herself with thoughts of the disappearing act she'd just pulled as she hummed 'Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree' and then the next...

She'd bumped into the gentleman on accident. That part, at least, was innocent enough. His big over coat had been open, affording her a birds-eye view of his wallet in an interior pocket and she the rest had just happened...

The only explanation she had for it was somehow this night seemed made for games of cat and mouse. It had started when she walked into the USO and first met Charles Atworth III.

She wasn't born yesterday, and she hadn't recently fallen off a turnip truck either. Her eyebrow raising slightly as she her thoughts continued. She'd known his line for what it was. Every girl seemed to have a similar story about some soldier saying the right things these days.

In short, she hadn't been able to not toy with him and let him think he was getting his way.

Slow down, Rosie, her mind whispered, don't forget what you know, bringing her back to the present and her latest act of impetuousness tonight. She reminded herself this one could cost her far more than the buffoon Lieutenant Atworth could. She had learned when she was young not to run and not to make a scene or do anything to draw undue attention to herself, unless it was completely necessary, but most importantly to keep her eyes open for anyone that might have seen something.

She lifted her gaze, making a sweep of the other passengers, and that's when she saw him. At first she hadn't recognized him. She hadn't expected to see anyone she might recognize. She'd noticed a soldier hurrying to board the train behind them, but she'd only caught a glimpse and hadn't really cared to look.

Her gaze snapped back to him as recognition kicked in. Her heart pounding as their eyes met and for a moment her body tensed. Usually a direct gaze meant you'd been found out. Then the logical side of her kicked in: of course he'd recognize her after their earlier mishap. So she smiled at him, careful to make it friendly, but not too much and dropped her gaze once more.

It took a minute or so, but she did eventually look up, her gaze passing quickly over the occupants on the train when she got to him. She met his gaze briefly and for a second Bucky thought she didn't recognize him, until she visibly stiffened and her eyes snapped back.

Despite her effort to hide it, James saw worry mark her features as she looked back at him, but less than a second after their eyes met it was gone and quickly enough that if he hadn't been watching her, he might have dismissed it. She only looked at him briefly, her smile friendly and completely innocent and dismissive, the term 'bold as brass' slipped through his head again. .

~ooOoo~

Aware of his continued attention, Rose grew increasingly uncomfortable as she began to question her own logic in dismissing him. When he'd started moving in her direction, it was a battle to keep herself still on the bench and keep her uncertainty hidden.

"It seems your fingers and toes have something in common," he said conversationally as he sat down just a few feet away, then crossed his left leg over his right knee and stretched his arms out along the back of the bench.

Damn, was the first thought to enter her mind as he spoke, her body tensing. She'd been made. Instinct born from years of survival kicked in, and she played it cool as she met his gaze and asked, "Excuse me?"

A smile threatened at the side of his lips as he watched her cool facade and the deliberately obtuse look in her brown eyes. Playing along with the charade, he schooled his features. "Your fingers and toes," he repeated as if his statement made perfect sense, which it did.

After the drink mishap, he'd seen her again on the dance floor in a whirl of green skirt, white slip and legs as her partner flipped her over his back. "It would appear you are light with one and quick on the other," he added as his gaze broke from hers and traveled past her then came back again.

Belatedly, she pulled her gaze from his face and followed the direction of his eyes, a heavy sick feeling coiling her stomach tight. Her attention snapped back to him, her heart pounding painfully against her chest. A voice cautioned, "Easy, Rose," as their gazes held.

After a second his eyes dropped and her's followed, only to find his out stretched hand. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she focused on his hand, her body was still tense, heart pounding slightly. She knew what he wanted and for a moment she almost denied it, but one more quick glance at his face told her it wouldn't do her any good. Her gaze dropped to his chest and she stared unseeingly at the clasp on his uniform belt, weighing her options or lack thereof.

Despite her lack of options, her normally quick mind searched for an escape route anyway, even though she knew there wasn't one. He will tell and they'll take you to the nearest cop shop as soon as the train stops, her mind warned. Ignoring her head, she let instinct take over. Mickey always said trust your gut, Roe. After the barest of instances her gaze lifted back to his face, finding his eyes on her.

The decision came not from the knowledge that either way she could go with this denial or compliance, she had no choice. She stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out the wallet, dropping it into his outstretched hand.

He stood abruptly and walked away.


	3. Circumstance

**Xxx**

 **Chapter 2. Circumstance.**

* * *

Rose stared at the place he'd just vacated for a half a second before her gaze finally followed him, fixing on his uniform clad back and staying there as he made his way toward the owner of the wallet. Despite that slight glint of wry amusement she'd seen in his eyes moments ago, she was wary and her muscles coiled tightly in response to the feeling. She had no idea what he intended to do next or if he'd tell the gentleman she'd lifted his wallet.

She wasn't really stupid enough to think she had any right to expect anything else. Nonetheless, a piece of her almost desperately latched onto the fact he hadn't given up her goose just yet. Trying to push the desperation away, she knew no matter the outcome she wouldn't be able to breathe normally till she knew what he intended.

Maybe it was because of that building anxiety that Rose broke yet another cardinal rule of pick-pocketing: looking directly at your mark before or after the lift. Her eyes stayed with the soldier as he reached out to tap the older man on the shoulder. Her already thumping heart sped up, banging painfully against her ribs as she watched him hand the billfold back to the man, speaking to him as he did so. After a couple more moments, she finally realized she was staring and looked a deep breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding as her gaze dropped to the floor. She continued to watch them out of the corner of her eye, focusing all of her attention on the low din of their voices, her ears straining, albeit unsuccessfully, to hear what they said.

The older gentleman's gaze drifted around dingy interior of the subway car, then he put his wallet back in his pocket and shook the soldier's hand. Letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd actually been holding, she relaxed a little, but it was short lived A heavy sick feeling swamped her stomach again: Mickey would be fit and feather white if he'd found out what she'd done tonight. If he could somehow see past the act itself, where she'd chosen to do it would infuriate him. They'd been caught in the act before when they were children, but they'd always managed to avoid being apprehended and they'd learned quickly never to back themselves into a corner.

A pair of legs covered in olive green move past her and took the same spot they'd previously occupied.

Her gaze lifted to the window opposite them and she focused on his reflection. She wondered again what came next, what he planned to say or do. An intelligent person, especially one who just might have been given a Get out of Jail Free card, would keep their trap shut. But for Rose sitting there and waiting was far worse than asking.

When he didn't speak after some moments she asked, "Do you plan to haul me to the nearest precinct?" She didn't turn her head, just continued to study his reflection in the glass.

Bucky's gaze turned to her when she spoke. He hadn't planned on sitting down near her again, but at the last minute had decided to. Oh, he'd known before he sat down that she could keep her head down and follow that instinct to bolt at the next station, but another part of him had thought maybe, given the bold little thing her earlier actions had proven her to be, she'd speak again given the chance. And to put it simply, he wanted her to.

He'd watched her out of the corner of his eye since he'd sat down and waited. Knowing he wasn't going to turn her in. He didn't know when he'd made that decision exactly, but he had and now, seeing how nervous she was, he knew he probably really should put her out of her misery and tell her. It was after all what a gentleman would do. But he wasn't so certain gentlemanly rules applied in this situation and after how cool and calm she'd been before, he found her rattled composure entertaining. He had no intentions of answering until she looked at him.

Rose knew he'd heard her as she'd seen his head turn toward her in their reflection in the window across from them. Even though he didn't speak, her nerves began to settle as soon as the question was asked. Nothing about his attitude made her nervous at all—in fact something about his present silence was slightly amusing. She repressed the sudden urge to smile and pasted a more serious look on her face. After a moment more, she looked over at him, immediately noticing the faint twinkle in his blue eyes.

"No," he finally answered.

Their gazes held again for a silent moment before hers dropped, first back to his mouth and then drifted lower, over the cleft in his chin then along his neck, before it settled on the sergeant stripes of his arm. Rose felt fairly certain that a "thank you" was in order, but for the life of her she wasn't quite certain what words to use to say "thank you for not turning me in after you saw me steal someone's wallet."

Bucky knew he could expect her to offer some words of thanks and, judging by her facial expression, she was struggling with that very idea.

After a moment more, he pulled a straight face and circumvented the apology altogether . "You're welcome." He said, careful to maintain his facade.

"Thank you?" It actually came out more like a question than a statement, her voice sounding a little confused, and the grin he'd been stifling slipped back onto his face.

The grinding of the brakes on the train drowned out any opportunity to speak again and drew her attention to the platform coming into view through the window.

It's your stop, her mind announced unnecessarily, then added, the voice sounding oddly hopefully to Rose, maybe it's his as well as the train stopped completely and the doors opened. She glanced at him as she stood and found his gaze on the other passengers as they disembarked. Before she even knew what she was about, she turned and asked with an expectant look on her face. "Well?"

When the train had started to slow and she stood an oddly let-down feeling filled him. The feeling disappeared however when she turned and spoke, "well?" Her dark eyes held his, twinkling slightly and a faint smile played about her lips as she repeated herself. "Well?"

At first confused by her words, he surmised by the barely contained mirth in her eyes, that his confusion must be showing. Placing her hands on her hips, she adopted a frustrated look.

"First you dumped my drink on me and now...Well, I'm hungry so I'm thinking you owe me supper, Sarg," she explained impatiently.

Rose watched surprise replace the confusion that had marked his features. His expression quickly changed to one of entertainment and she couldn't help but let own her amusement show. After a second more he stood, that amused gleam in his eyes growing.

Impetuous...her mind suddenly stated accusingly and, not for the first time tonight, as he stood, color stole across her skin and she turned quickly. You know nothing about this man... It stated next as she stepped off the train. Next it accused, Didn't you just make a fool of one soldier who was looking for more than a simple dance tonight? How do you know he isn't as well?

He didn't turn me in, she silently argued with herself.

Her mind had an answer for that as well: Maybe he thinks you plan to pay him for the gesture...

Growing exasperated with herself, she said to herself, Oh shut up. Then quickly added, I'm sure he's harmless.

Bucky followed her off the train, a little confused and very charmed. She stopped abruptly, causing Bucky to do the same, and turned. Her expression held a hint of hesitance. If she was nervous, he could understand it as she didn't know him from Adam. The impulse to put her at ease suddenly hit him. He knew he wanted to know more about her and he also knew if this chance slipped away, he'd not find another.

"How did you know I am light on my feet?" she suddenly asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn't altogether unlikely he'd seen her dancing at some point this evening, but she was unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. Her eyes drifted over his uniform and paused on his shoulder before she continued, "Sarg?

A grin tugged at his lips and one dark brow raised slightly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heel, his head tilted slightly to the side as he said, "I have my ways," with a slight lifting of his chin.

Observing the somewhat cocky tilt of his chin and manner in general, she pulled a serious face, folded her arms over her chest and lifted her own chin slightly. Then she laughed for just a moment, unable to hold her serious facial expression.

At her short burst of laughter, Bucky felt his own chest rattle with silent amusement. Once she'd finished, he asked, "So is there a place to eat open around here?"

"Just around the corner actually," she replied. Sticking her hand out, she said, "Rose O'Shea."

Glancing down at her small hand, he took it in his own, before his gaze came back to hers. "James Barnes. But most people call me Bucky."

 **~ooOoo~**

Taking her menu from their waitresses hand, she opened it and looked over it, her eyes settling on him, where he'd just slid into the booth opposite her.

He'd removed his hat and placed it on the seat beside him and she took the moment to just observe him. Her gaze drifted over his face, starting with the thick dark brown hair pushed back from his forehead, then lower, over the line that creased the skin above his eyebrows then lower still. Unlike her, he was looking at his menu and because of that his eyes where partly concealed from her. Even so, the blue caught her attention, and held her gaze for a moment. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it, she thought, as her eyes drifted further down his features.

A rather naughty voice from somewhere in her head adding to the thought as it said, He fills out that uniform rather well, too, don't you think?

With a slight lift of her eyebrow, her mind answered itself, Indeed.

Some part of her had registered that he was attractive before this moment, but she hadn't realized quite how attractive. Her gaze found its way to his lips and discovered a lopsided grin on them.

"Are you reading your menu, Miss O'Shea?" he asked, his voice suspicious.

Her gaze quickly dropped as an equally quick smile slipped onto her lips. "What else would I be doing, Sergeant Barnes?" she replied innocently.

After a short pause, he said, "Nothing." His grin growing slightly as he realized she'd been staring at him and he went with the compulsion to tease her. Now, however, with the heavily laid-on innocence in her voice, he found himself wondering what exactly she'd been thinking.

Rose studied the menu for a moment, despite not needing to look at it to know what she wanted. Apple pie and a chocolate soda sounded about right. She really wasn't hungry at all—she just hadn't been ready to part from him—so she made her outlandish request for supper for that reason.

Dismissing her menu, she peeked over it again, noting the amused smirk that slipped onto his features seconds later. "So when do you ship out, soldier?"

"Tomorrow morning," Bucky responded, looking directly at her for the first time since they sat down.

"Then it's fortunate we met tonight," she said, the smile playing about her lips .

Bucky wasn't certain he had a verbal response for that comment, but before he could even think of anything, their waitress returned, pad in hand and asked, "Are you ready to order?"

Folding her menu, Rose looked up at the older woman waiting to take their order. Bucky saw her shoot him a sidelong glance as she said, "Yes, I am. I'd like a slice of apple pie and a chocolate soda please."

Handing her menu back to the waitress, Rose's gaze traveled back to him as he ordered pie and a cup of coffee.

A sudden image of the young woman she had seen him with earlier after the lemonade incident filled her head, bringing a question along with it. Was she his girl? And the question came out before she realized it: "Is there anyone I am keeping away from tonight?"

Slight color stained her cheeks but now that she'd asked, she wanted to know. Not that it mattered—it was altogether likely she'd never see him again after tonight.

The question, Bucky found, mirrored one of his own. He'd forgotten about the man whose whereabouts he questioned when he first saw her alone on the subway platform, but now the reason behind that curiosity seemed to have changed a little.

Noticing the faint remnants of color staining her skin and decided quickly that he liked it before he replied "No." Seeing the small smile that tugged at her lips, he asked, "How about you?"

With a slight shake of her head, she said, "No."

Unaccountably happy, she repressed the smile that both the answer to her question and then his own inquiry made pull at her mouth. After a moment more, she asked. "So where does this soldier live until tomorrow morning?"

"Brooklyn. What about you?"

"Just a few blocks away."

 **~ooOoo~**

Rose hung back as Bucky left to go pay their tab. Grabbing her coat, she pulled a pencil from the pocket and tore off the edge of her placemat and quickly wrote on it. Then she stood, stuffing it in her pocket and started in his direction.

He stood sideways beside the counter, his head turned toward the woman waiting on him as he leaned heavily on the elbow that rested on the top. A very girlish and giddy feeling filling her chest as her mind drifted back to moments before he'd stood. She had told him she could walk herself home, saying she only lived three blocks away but he'd had none of it, saying he'd see her there. To be honest, she more than liked his firm refusal to let her walk herself home.

The smile teasing her lips grew at her next thought: she even liked the nickname he went by.

Bucky.

He certainly didn't strike her as a Jim or a Jimmy but Bucky seemed to fit him perfectly. It had a good-natured, easy-going ring to it while James seemed too formal, Jim felt like a name for an old Doctor, Jimmy was a nickname for a kid.

Honestly though, she hadn't seen anything about him she didn't like. Oh, he was smooth enough, but in the brief hour and half or so she'd known him, and saw what she figured was his given nature to flirt and tease he didn't bother her. He did come off a little cocksure, and she had no doubt he was a very confident man or that he used that confident personality to charm woman (and people in general) and nine times out of ten, she bet, he got what he wanted. She'd met many men with that same personality. Her dance partner from earlier for instance, but with Bucky it was different.

 **~ooOoo~**

Leaning against the counter, Bucky took one of the toothpicks from the dispenser near the cash register and placed it between his teeth as he watched her step up beside him. The questions of what she'd scribbled on that piece of paper a few moments ago and what brought that 'cat that ate the cream' expression that followed it on his mind. As if she knew he was thinking about her, she looked up at him for a second then her attention dropped to the toothpick he rolled between his teeth before it moved back to the waitress behind the counter.

Really, he supposed it could be about anything.

The slight smile on his lips grew, as his gaze drifted over her head of dark red curls; most men said redheads weren't mentally stable and he guessed now he understood why.

He was fairly certain that he'd never met anyone quite like her. Some women went to absurd length to catch a man's eye, but he was in no way self-centered or full of himself enough to think she'd gone through all of this simply to catch his—no sane person would. That wasn't to say he thought she was exactly what you'd call sane either nor did it didn't stop him wanting to tease her about that very thing or about what she'd written on that piece of paper.

~ooOoo~

Rose watched their waitress cash out the tab, very aware he was staring at her and she was fairly certain he was thinking about her, but like a silly school girl she wanted to know exactly what. Before she could speculate anymore, the waitress looked up and handed him his change

Stepping back, she waited for him as he placed it in his wallet.

"Ready?" he asked.

Nodding her head, she turned and walked with him to the the exit, holding the the door open for her as he took the toothpick from his mouth with his other hand and dropped it in a small wastebasket nearby as she moved past him.

Rose headed in the opposite direction from the one that had brought them here. Her hands in the pockets of her dress coat, her gaze on the sidewalk before her as he stepped up beside her.

Moments later, he spoke, drawing her. "It's a nice night."

The comment struck her as absurdly commonplace, given the circumstances of the night so far. An amused noise escaped her before she asked, "How long will it take you get to England?"

"A couple weeks, maybe longer."

She nodded her head, not saying anything because there really wasn't anything to say. The trip would normally take less time but with the ever present threat of u-boat attacks, things had changed. It had started less than six weeks after Pearl had been bombed and with first u-boat attack. The Nazis sank the ship Heart of Atlanta off the Great Barrier Reef and the government and private shipping companies had had to be way more cautious.

New York had even started dimming the harbor lights in the evening and at night sometimes. Her brother worked at the shipyards and said the first time the lights had dimmed and he was there, three troop ships had sailed out. Despite the cautionary measures, the Nazis still managed to sink or disable dozens of ships and kill hundreds since then from Canada clear to the Gulf of Mexico.

After a moment more she spoke again. Choosing not to comment on the threat of u-boats, she began with the first thing that came to mind: "My friend Max doesn't think it's fair that women aren't given the same opportunities to serve our country as men, "she said, lifting her gaze. He had a content look on his face so she went on, "She says that we are mothers after all, so we are much more capable of dealing with death than men. What do you think?"

After the words came out, she found she really was curious to know what he thought so she didn't add that she felt Max's biggest reason for that complaint was she just liked to have an opinion about everything.

That was a loaded question if he'd ever heard one. After a moment of thought, his gaze came back to her and he replied, "Well, I can see where she might be right about women and death, but I wouldn't want my sister or any woman I cared for to see the things I will see."

Rose nodded and looked away, after a moment of silence, he asked, "What about you?"

"I don't know, honestly," she replied, her gait slowing to a stop, a thoughtful look on her face as she turned toward him. He did the same, waiting for her to continue. "I never really thought about it 'til Max's brothers enlisted and she brought it up."

She came across so bold and sure of herself, he'd expected more of an answer than the one she gave and as he stood there studying her, his arms behind his back, he realized he was a little disappointed by the answer. "There are things she could do that didn't involve combat. Make ammunition. Serve as an aide. Volunteer in an enlistment offices."

His eyes drifted over her face as he continued, "You said you work at a textile factory. I'd assume you're making uniforms. She could do that. Or, if she wants to be close to the front lines she could join the Red Cross."

Smiling, Rose shook her head slightly and started forward again. "She already works with me." Once he fell into step beside her, she said, "I don't know that she actually wants to join, I just think she likes to have an opinion."

"I see, " he responded, wondering if she hadn't said that till now because she wanted to know what he actually thought or if she was just teasing him.

After that, the quiet of the city—or as quiet as it got—seemed to settle around them and, before she knew it, they were at their destination.

"This is me," Rose said.

Bucky glanced down at her then followed the direction of her gaze to one of the many marginally rundown apartment buildings sitting clustered in a row.

She spoke again, her voice soft. "And thank you."

There was nothing of her teasing nature anywhere. "Why'd you do it?" he asked, finally giving into the compulsion. The question had stayed in his mind since they'd been in the diner and, in the silence since she'd last spoke, it had come back again. Her clothing was decent, she was groomed, she just didn't seem like the type of person who he'd expect to see stealing for their bread.

Caught off guard by the question despite having just opened to door to it. She'd only said those words because she wanted him to know she really was thankful. But now standing there looking up at him, she could tell he really wanted to know. Maybe she even owed him an explanation after what he'd done, but her answer came as, "Why does anyone do anything?" She added a small smile for good measure.

The street light overhead illuminated her upturned face, letting him see the hint of amusement that followed her reply, then the expression changed and before he knew it, she stepped closer. Her body moving into his as she raised up on tiptoe and her eyes fell shut. Her soft lips brushed his mouth lightly.

Shock kept him immobile for a moment but then as she started to pull back, his right arm slipped around her, preventing her retreat as he pulled her close and returned the kiss. It felt like the most natural thing to do, the soft rush of breath that escaped from her lips making it feel more so. He reached up with his left hand, removed his hat, then slipped that arm around her as well.

The kiss had been an impulse, like so many other things tonight and she could have taken a different approach and reached the same end, but she'd thought 'why not' and done it. Meaning it in part to distract him as she slipped her hand from her pocket to his. Despite her actions she hadn't expected him to kiss her back. A soft startled breath escaped her lips as he pulled her close and returned the gesture, only more intimately, catching her upper lip between his as warmth slipped across her skin. Her small hands went to the lapels of his dress uniform, turning into fists as she held on, her back arching over his arm slightly as he leaned over her more. He moved his head, this time catching her bottom lip between his, and lingering there, he brushed another soft kiss against her lips, then he lifted his head.

Her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him to find his attention shifting from her lips to her eyes. The shadow caused by his bent head made it hard for her to see the exact light in his eyes, but there was something other than the playfulness she'd seen before this point. A wave of heat scalded her cheeks and colored her skin again as his arms loosened about her and he stepped back. Rose looked down, stepping away from him as well.

Now you're going to play shy, he questioned silently. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he placed his hat back on his head. He wasn't certain what had made her suddenly kiss him, and as much as it had startled him at first, he'd enjoyed it. Seeing her flustered response, the impulse to tease her was there once again, but he didn't. Instead he titled his head to the side, shoved his hands in his pockets as he waited the couple seconds it took for her to look at him again.

Acutely aware of his attention, Rose bit her bottom lip lightly. She'd gotten a bit more than she'd bargained for, that was for certain, but, judging from the way her toes were curling inside her shoes and the jittery feeling filling her chest, she should look at it as a good thing. That giddy feeling grew, as she lifted her gaze. This time it was easier to see his face and the decidedly entertained and slightly knowing look on it.

Her cheeks instantly reddened again and she had to quell the impulse to look away once more, sensing that if she did, she'd only amuse him more. The twinkle in his bright gaze seemed to dance a little more, making her think he fully understood her first instinct had been to look away. More heat flooded her skin and she finally looked away Her eyes fell to his lips, and the playful grin playing about them and an entirely fresh wave of heat scalded her cheeks for just a moment as she remembered the feel off his firm mouth against hers.

Rose knew she'd managed to feed that amusement she had been trying not to. Not that she really cared if she amused him, in all actuality she found she rather liked it. All the same, she wasn't sure she wanted him to know that. Completely unwilling to be at a loss any longer, she pulled her gaze from his rather pleasant mouth and said, "You know, they make you watch a film when you get to England?"

He felt fairly certain she was laughing at him, but he played along anyway."Really?"

"Yes. Welcome to Britain. I've been told it tells you all you need to know about courting English girls." That wasn't exactly the truth. The movie was to encourage certain type of behavior or so Max's older brother had said when he wrote to her, but he'd told her in the very next line, most of the guys joked about it being courting instructions.

Laughter filled his chest and a slightly bemused expression slipped onto his face as he questioned for just a moment what kind of girl kissed a man then seconds later told him about an instructional film for courting English girls. Now just how was he supposed to take that, he wondered. "Take care of yourself."

Rose's smile twitched a little when she saw his reaction and there was laughter in her voice as she said, "I'll see you around, soldier." Then she turned and hurried toward her building.

Hell, who knew? Maybe she was right and they would see each other again, he thought as he watched her hurry toward the building, his hand absentmindedly wrapping around a piece of crumpled paper in his pocket.

She paused by the door, glancing back at him briefly, then she was gone.

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. First One Then The Other

Xxxx

 **Chapter 3. First One**

 **"The consequences of serendipity are sometimes a beautiful discovery."**

* * *

 **New York, late May, 1943**

* * *

Yawning softly, Rose tightened the belt on her light green housecoat as she left her room. The sound of a car starting in the alleyway below momentarily drew her attention toward the open window near the end of the short, narrow hallway as she paused by her brother's door and called his name. An "I'm up," greeted her from the other side.

Continuing down the hallway toward the small kitchen at its end, the soft soles of her slippers tapped against the old wooden floor as she went. Her gaze drifted out the open double window as she moved, passing over the familiar early morning view of lighted windows in the large brownstone apartment building sitting ten feet from her own.

Once she entered the kitchen, she turned the knob by the door casing. The light over the old rickety table, that a previous owner painted that horrible green color that had come to be known as "depression green," came on, filling the room with its soft buzzing noise and yellowish light. Electric lights were one of those things she relished having, along with many others. She had been fifteen and Mick almost eighteen when he'd managed to finally get them off the streets forgood. President Roosevelt's New Deal Programs had stimulated the economy, but it wasn't the government that got Mick a decent job when there were still too few to go around. It was him being an "Irish lad."

The older man that managed the shipyard where Mick worked was a third generation Irish immigrant, named Braden Fitzpatrick, who believed in taking care of his own as he put it. Within days of starting work, Mr. Fitz had found them this apartment in one of the many Irish neighborhoods dotting this area of the city. A short time after that, he'd asked Mick if she could read and do sums and when Mick answered yes, he'd told him to send her to Kintyre Dry Goods and tell them Braden Fitz sent her. The job had been both a surprise and a blessing. The only thing Mr. Fitz ever asked for in return was that Mick box in a few dozen fights through the years. Mick was a south paw, with a mean left hook. At the fights they called him Irish Mick. Rose didn't particularly like it, but it was as Mick put it a small price to pay after everything Mr. Fitz had done for them and the extra money it brought in did help.

Three years ago, she'd gone to work in the factory and it paid much better. Money was still tight, but she knew how fortunate they were.

Despite her brothers winnings, like most of the tenants in this area, a modern refrigerator, was one of things they couldn't afford so Rose made her way across the kitchen toward the built-in ice box in the wall, near a small gas stove. This ice box, along with the deep mahogany color of the wainscoting and the woodwork around the windows and doors, were some of the things that made her think that despite their small, four-room home's faded wallpaper, chipped paint and door knob on the front door that you had to turn the key just right to open, it had once been considered a fairly nice place. And she was happy just to have a roof over her head.

Rose did what she could to make their small home pleasant, always keeping it clean. She made curtains for the windows and pillows out of printed flour sacks and material remnants she bought. Mrs. Mary O'Conner, the old woman that lived across the hall and her husband, Angus, had taken an interest in Rose and Mick just after they had moved in six years ago and the closeness they now shared years later was basically that of family. She had taught Rose to knit, can meats and how to make do when keeping a home, along with many other skills to make their life easier.

Rose was grateful for her home and the O'Conners kindness, but there was one thing she wished was different: the lack of private facilities. There were only two public bathrooms on each of the five floors of the building and they were all that accommodated the many that lived inside. Many of the families in the building kept chamber pots, but Rose found the notion offensive. She didn't mind doing her morning washing in her room, but that's where she drew the line.

She had just managed to start their breakfast of oatmeal cooking and heat up yesterday evening's coffee when she heard the creaky hinges of Mick's bedroom door as it opened and then his heavy tread as he walked down the hall.

Grabbing the milk from the ice box, Rose placed it on the table next to the sugar dish just as he stepped through the door, instantly smiling when she noticed his short cropped copper colored hair sticking out all over his head and looking a fright. "Slept in your hair again, did ya?" she asked.

He stopped by the table, holding her gaze as he stretched his arms up over his head as he yawned and said rather sarcastically, "Good morning to you, too, sister." He walked toward the counter and picked up the cup of coffee she'd already poured for him, then turned and leaned against the counter, lifting the cup to his lips.

Pulling one foot up onto the seat she'd just sat down on, Rose grabbed yesterday's newspaper from the center of the table and unfolded it as she took a sip of her coffee. An article titled, "Munitions Ship Blows Up In Crash; 83 Die," caught her eye. Articles such as this weren't uncommon these days and they all usually read the same.

As if mirroring the thought, Mick said "another u-boat attack?" That question was immediately followed by another. "There were some letters for you day before yesterday. Did you happen to find them?"

She met his brown gaze and said, "No." Her attention stayed with him as he made his way across the room and opened the drawer they kept such stuff in. When he started toward her, envelopes in one hand, coffee in the other, he said "I won't be home till late tonight. I need to stop by Mrs O'Rourke's and look in on her and the kids."

"How are Maddy and Colin's sisters?" Rose asked. Mick and Colin O'Rourke had met when Colin trained Mick at the shipyard and they'd been friends ever since. Colin was another in the ever growing list of draftees and was presently at basic training in Georgia. When Mick told her, Colin had been drafted, it had made her stomach hurt. And as horrible as this may sound, it was more because of her own fear of the same happening to Mick than because of Colin and his family. It wasn't that she didn't feel for Colin's mother and sisters it was just that Mick was all she had. She sometimes went day to day waiting for it to happen. Luckily, Mick spoke again before she had a chance to think anymore on the subject. "I received a letter from Colin a couple days ago," Mick began, her gaze as he continued. "He wanted me to stop by and fix a couple loose boards on the front porch. He said he meant to fix 'em before he left but forgot." He handed her the letters and sat down.

Dismissing the letters for the moment, Rose stood and walked to the stove, pulling the pan of oatmeal from the burner and shutting it off. Her mind on Colin's twelve year old, twin sisters, Cora and Bridi as she dished up the their breakfast she said. "Tell Maddy I'll stop by this weekend. I have a couple old dresses I thought I'd remake for the girls and I need measurements."

"They'd like that."

Rose turned around and handed him his breakfast and found he filched the paper when she wasn't looking. Not that she was surprised. She arched an eyebrow at him as she sat down but didn't say anything

Picking up her spoon, Rose used it to put some sugar in her oatmeal, then added some milk she had gotten out of the ice box earlier as she absentmindedly flipped through the letters, reading their envelopes. The first was an advertisement letter from Sears and Roebuck, the second was from one of Max's brothers. The third, however, had her gaze snapping back to it and she read the name of the return address again. Sergeant James Barnes. She didn't read the rest of the address, only stared at the name, her heartbeat picking up tempo slightly as a faint wave of heat assaulted her cheeks and a slow smile blossomed on her face. Her gaze snapped to her brother as she stood quickly. Noting the curious look on his face, she said, "I need to do something." Forgetting all about breakfast, she hurried down the hall toward her room, already opening the envelope as she stepped inside and shut the door. She pulled the neatly folded paper from the envelope and unfolded it, her gaze eagerly scanning the contents as she sat down on her bed.

 _Dear Rose,_

 _I assume the piece of paper I found in my pocket you put there because you wanted a letter? Maybe? Honestly, it surprised me when I found it, but why I'm not really sure. From what I've seen, you tend to approach things a little differently than most people so I guess it would make perfect sense that if that girl; the one I met a few weeks ago wanted a pen pal she'd have an.. Unusual way of asking. I hope this note finds you well and I hope I hear back from you. Some women or most women would likely be embarrassed, but I bet you'll write back._

 _Bucky._

The bright grin teasing her lips grew as she continued to stare down at the letter in her hands after she finished reading it. Equal doses of amusement and embarrassment flooded her. Her eyebrow raising slightly as the grin on her face grew until her cheeks hurt. His letter was rather impertinent if she did say so herself, but really what more could she expect after the way she behaved. She'd hurried up the stairs to the second story landing that night, just to catch one last glimpse of him. She had made it to the window just in time to see him reach the other side of the street. The next morning she hadn't felt quite as bold and even given her somewhat brazen and impetuous nature, she looked back on the night before with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. She'd never truly expected to hear from him and a small part of her had been a little thankful for that thought when she questioned what he must think of her.

* * *

 **Five days Later, England.**

* * *

Running the fingers of his right hand through his wet hair, Bucky walked back into his barracks, dressed in his undershirt, fatigues and boots. The towel he'd used after the shower he'd taken hung around his neck. He looked about as he made his way toward his bunk. The barracks were empty except for Sam, Wilson and Fletcher all sitting on Sam's cot not far away, playing cards. Bucky nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

Grabbing one end of the towel, he slipped it from around his neck then dropped it on his footlocker, noticing the letters laying on the end of his neatly made bunk as he did so. They hadn't been there when he left. Picking them up, he sat down near the head of the bed, swung his legs up, and crossed his ankle as he leaned back against the wall. "I swear tha boy gets mor' letthus than the rest of us," Teddy Fletcher from the Bronx said, drawing Bucky's attention from the letters he just started thumbing through.

"Maybe if you showered more often you'd get 'mor' letthus' too." Wilson threw out, mimicking Teddy's accent as leaned closer to Fletcher and sniffed then made a sour face.

Teddy reached out and hit Wilson in the arm, shoving him slightly. "Shuddup and give me a good card would ya."

Used to Fletcher's mouth and the crap he likes to give, Bucky just grinned and turned his attention back to the letters in his hand, but before he'd even got a chance to really look at them Sam spoke drawing his gaze. "You wanna play, Buck?"

"Nah, he doesn't wanna play, he knows he'll lose," Fletcher answered for him in that nasally Bronx accent of his before Bucky got a chance to speak, then added, "ain't that right Sarg?"

Bucky put the letters down and moved to the empty cot between his and Sam's then slapped Fletcher on the back and said, "Deal me in." Three hands and close to an hour and twenty minutes later, Bucky was a few dollars richer and finally turning his attention back to the letters he'd left on his bunk, leaving the others to play on without him.

Picking them up as he sat back down and scooted up to top of bed like he had before. The first one he'd looked at earlier had been from his aunt, but he shuffled through them making sure there wasn't one from Becca as well. He always read hers first. There wasn't one from Beck, but there was one that caught his eye. Tearing the envelope open and pulling the paper out he leaned back a little farther making himself comfortable, a slight grin already tugging at his lips.

 _Dear Bucky, or wait, should I use sergeant Barnes?! Yes. I like that better. Dear Sergeant Barnes, I couldn't have just asked you to write me now could I? We don't hardly know each other, it would have been far too forward. But enough about all that. I am well thank you and I hope you are also. Truthfully, I had given up on ever receiving a letter from you seems it has been weeks since we last met and not to criticize, and I do thank you for the note, but I was hoping for something that consisted of more than five sentences. You could tell me about England and more about yourself?_

 _Your friend, Rose._

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


	5. Six Day's Later

**Hey y'all! I know it's been a while since I updated last and I'm sorry! Since the last chapter was published I went back and did some editing in the original chapters, the only thing that I changed other than grammatical stuff was the ending of chapter two a bit. I don't generally change posted work but the end of that chapter didn't feel right. The film Rose mentions in her letter to Bucky is introduced in the end of chapter two!**

 **As always, thanks for the faves, follows and reviews!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

 **Six days later**

* * *

"The cheek of some people," Rose uttered softly, with a slight shake of her head, more than a little entertained. The grin that had appeared on her face the moment she'd pulled his letter from the mail grew as she stared unseeingly at the faded yellow wallpaper on her bedroom wall for a moment more before her attention dropped backed to letter in her hands.

 _Dear Miss O'Shea,_

 _England is wet, green and cold. The sun hardly ever shines, there are lots of old buildings and before you can ask, no I haven't seen the queen._

 _Seriously though, the Nazis tried to destroy London during the blitz, but it is still a pretty neat place. I don't really know what you want me to tell you about, but like New York, there's a lot of history here and a pretty mixed culture. It seems like there's always something going on even though Hitler's army is just across the Atlantic._

 _So how are you? Rode any subway cars lately?_

 _Bucky_

 _Ps. I knew you'd write back, Rose.  
_

Had she ridden any subway cars lately. She laughed in earnest this time.

It seemed silly but she started watching for his response three days ago. She knew it had only been eight days since she'd mailed him her own letter and that it was an entirely girlish thing to be so excited over the prospect of his reply, but she couldn't help herself.

Tonight, however, she hadn't really thought about it. It was Wednesday, which meant it was her long day at work and she'd been so tired she hadn't even bothered to brush the bits and pieces of string and lint from her pale gray skirt before she left work. Her shoulders ached from sitting hunched over her machine for four hours longer than normal today. Her plan had simply been, to heat up yesterday evening's leftovers, of boiled ham and potatoes, wait for Mick to get home from work, then crawl into bed.

When she had found his letter in her mailbox this evening after work, she suddenly wasn't tired any more. Her face had turned red as a beet and she hurried upstairs, let herself into her apartment and then immediately made for her bedroom, despite being the only one home.

And now sitting here on her creaky old iron bed, staring at his neatly scrolled letter, she still felt that giddy feeling welling inside her.

 **Five days later, across the Atlantic.**

 _Dear_ _Mr. Barnes,_

 _I am good, thank you and I hope you are too. New York is good as well but not as good as Brooklyn. You probably already know but the Dodgers are playing in the all-star game in Philadelphia in a few weeks! Everywhere I go it's baseball, baseball, baseball more than normal. My machine broke down at work the other day and when the repairman came to fix it he told me all about it and so has just about everyone else I've seen lately._

 _Thank you for your informative factual information about England too. You explained it all so well I felt like I was there... Just in case you were wondering, that was meant in sarcasm and as a matter of fact I have rode the subway lately, but why that would be of interest to you I fail understand..._

 _Have you been to Portobello Road yet? If you haven't you should go see it. Another friend went there and wrote to me about it, coincidentally that's the same friend that told me about that film._

 _Was it helpful at all?_

 _Your friend, Rose_

Laughing softly, Bucky dropped her letter in his lap and absentmindedly began rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder. His response already taking shape in his mind. Rose O'Shea was a brat and he had no doubt she knew it. He'd watched that film all right and when it was over there had been a big grin on his face and he knew he was going to play along with her. He purposely waited to write to her basically because he figured she would expect a letter promptly.

His sister was a brat as well. She sent him letters every day or two and complained if he didn't reply quickly enough. She had always liked to pester and aggravate him and she was happiest when he played along with her.

When she was annoyed with him she always called him stupid.

The last three letters he read from her today were full of that word.

D company had been away on maneuvers and tactical training exercises for five days, several hours north of London, eating nothing but cold c-rations and sleeping in muddy foxholes and he hadn't written to her for four day's before that.

His muscles ached, he was tired and covered in dried sweat and mud, and when they returned he wanted nothing so much as a hot shower and a real meal. The only question was which did he want worse. He had opted for a shower then food. Their CO had had a special meal prepared for them as a treat upon their return. Spaghetti, canned corn and rolls. He wasn't really sure it could be called spaghetti, however. It was basically, bland tomato sauce with a little meat thrown in, on top of some mushy noodle's, but still, after eating c-rations for five days, it tasted like fine cuisine. Bucky ate two helping of it before he returned to his bunk with a full belly and found the letters, he read all of the ones from his sister before he read the one from Rose.

Unlike Rose's letters, his sisters' were often several pages long and filled with nonsense. She kept him apprised of everything she did and everyone she talked to. In one of the ones he had read today, she told him about going to a showing of the _The Philadelphia Story_ with friends and one of her very first questions was if he thought Cary Grant was an attractive man.

If she didn't have anything else to talk about she told him how she wore her hair that day and what dress she put on, sometimes describing them in great lengths. He was fairly certain he knew more about his sister's wardrobe than any other man in England knew about theirs.

Most of the guys of D company, including Bucky's own squad, were certain as hell the training they had just gone through was because they were being shipped out soon. Rumors had been flying about that very thing with every mile the allies pushed the Desert Fox back across the sands of North Africa.

When they returned to base camp today and were all given a weekend pass, the men were certain this was it.

They were all soldiers; they had all prepared for this, but while some hid it well, they were all anxious.

Bucky didn't know that was what was going on but had his own suspicions it was. One thing he did know, however, was it wouldn't do him any good to worry about it. In the interest of keeping his men's anxiety down, he kept his comments to a minimum only saying they were better off worrying about dance partners this weekend or what to drink than about things they couldn't change. Needless to say these letters were a welcomed distraction.


	6. Chapter 5

_Xxx_

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

Dear _Miss O'Shea,_

 _That's just unamerican. Everyone likes baseball. I did know the Dodgers were playing in the All-Star game, but did you know this is the first one held at night?_

 _I have been to Portobello road. The market is an interesting place. You can find almost anything you want there, my sister would love it._

 _I'm not sure I appreciate your sarcasm regarding my description of England. You asked me to tell you about it so I did. But I'll give it another try. I was recently in the Penninis mountains in northern England for training. They looked more like rocky, green hills dotted with the occasional herd of sheep, than mountains to me. Most all of England I've seen so far besides London is made up of rolling fields, thick forests and small ancient villages. I guess it's kinda like being inside all those fairy tales and romances you women like to read. The houses or cottages, are mostly made of stone they have straw roofs and it isn't unusual to see hay wagons rolling down the narrow country roads or shepherds with a herd of sheep. There are cows everywhere._

 _All of the architecture is neat, but especially the churches. One of my men, John Wilson worked for a architectural office in Jersey before the war and says most of the churches date back to Norman times. I don't know about all that but they're still pretty neat._

 _You can almost feel the history here._

 _Bucky_

 _P.s. That film has been most helpful. I now know, if I have supper in a British house and eat all their food to bring some flowers, a box of chocolates and alcohol when I drop by again._

 _ **~ooOoo~**_

 _Dear Sergeant Barnes,_

 _Your sisters name is Rebbeca right? How often do you hear from her?_

 _Thank you! I knew you could do better than you did before and before I forget, I'm not a baseball fan. I've never been to a professional game, but I've heard them on the radio and seen kids playing in a vacant lot nearby. Honestly, if I was going to pick a professional sporting event to attend I think it would be football._

 _My brother would say it's because I have a violent nature, but he's the one who boxes in his spare time._

 _England sounds like stepping back into the past. My parents immigrated from Ireland before I was born and I know my mother used to talk about it. They were from county Wicklow and their ship left out of Dublin so they traveled to Saint Patrick's shrine before they left to pray for safe passage._

 _I tend to imagine most of England like the pages of Northanger Abbey or Oliver Twist, therefore every person in England must have a horribly tragic past._

 _With Ireland, it's more leprechauns, ghostly specters and fairies and all the people are descended from kings. Mick says our da always said, you could tell a true Irishmen by the name. By Mac_ _and O, you'll always know True Irishmen, they say; but if they_ _lack the O_ _and Mac_ _, no Irishmen are they_. _They_ _also drink a lot and that could be why they see leprechauns, ghostly specters and fairies!_

 _Your sisters name is Rebbeca right? How often do you hear from her?_

 _Why are you familiar with all those fairy tales and romance novels us women read? Do you read them in private Mr. Barnes?_

 _Rose_

 _P.s. How often do you drop by?_

 _ **~ooOoo~**_

 _Rose,_

 _Actually, my sister is always reading some ridiculous romance or another and she likes to tell me about them that's how I know and her name is Rebbeca. I hear from her every couple days, she like to tell me everything she does._

 _It's neat that your parents immigrated here from Ireland, my family has been in New York for generations, was your brother born there?_

 _I've been to Ebbets field a few times and I think you should watch a professional game before you make up your mind that you don't like it. There is nothing like sitting there eating hot dogs and Cracker Jacks and drinking an ice cold beer while you watch a game. I think it's one of the best ways to spend an afternoon._

 _I'm not saying I like it better than football. I played football in school, but if you haven't been to a pro game you don't know what you're missing. Looks like I have something in common with your brother, I've done some boxing myself, but I don't know about you having a violent nature. Odd yes, but violent I'm not sure._

 _I don't know about every Englishman having a tragic past, but I can see where it would make sense. A lot of them are uptight and don't have much of a sense of humor as far as I can tell, but I think that's just how they are and maybe you've read too many books._

 _I've never heard about the O' or the Mac before the name and I know a few Irishmen that would probably beg to differ about its lack. Are you sure you didn't make that up? It does seems rather convenient..._

 _Personally, I think you Irish are all a little off your rockers and some of you more than others. Don't you guys say, if God hadn't invented alcohol the Irish would rule the world?_

 _You especially need to watch out for the red headed ones on the subway..._

 _Buck_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**WARNING: This chapter contains actual World War II war violence and disturbing imagery** **.**

 **Thanks so much for the follows, faves and reviews! You guys are amazing!**

 **And a special thanks to my amazing beta! Without you I'd never figure this story out!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6.**

 **For Whom the Bell Tolls**

* * *

 **Tuesday, August 17th, Messina, Sicily**

* * *

Under the hot Mediterranean sun, Bucky leaned against a column holding up a tiled Sicilian roof, staring at nothing. A soft breeze blew inland off the crystal blue waters of the straits separating Sicily from the Italian mainland. It stirred the humid air, lifting a fine dust from the crumbled buildings and streets and cooled his overheated skin.

Lost in thought, he vaguely heard the sounds of the army camp a few hundred feet behind him in a small green park.

Bucky had left camp looking for Sam; he had something he needed to give back to him. All anyone had been able to tell him was Sam had gone in this direction. He'd wandered around for a bit, but when he didn't find him, he'd decided he'd just wait.

They'd been pinned down in a foxhole at Troina, under heavy machine gun fire from a ridge above and the stench of rotting flesh and death so strong you could taste in your mouth when Sam gave him the letter Bucky presently held in his hand. "This is for my folks. You know... If I don't..." Sam had said, his words dying off before he finished. Bucky grabbed him, by the front of his shirt, and said, "I'm not going to need to, you're gonna make it out of here, Sam."

At the time a battle-weary Bucky said those words, he hadn't been so certain they would prove true.

He didn't know if it was dumb luck or God, but somehow Sam and the rest of Bucky's squad had made it through the hell that was the last thirty seven days alive. The same couldn't be said for the rest of D company and the 107th that had stormed the Gela beachhead with close to four hundred men. He didn't know how many they'd lost, but he knew it was a lot.

Before they reached Troina, they had all known the Axis forces were retreating, but a large force of German and Italian soldiers had stayed behind to guard the rear door and they were dug in deep.

It took the 1st infantry a week and heavy loss of life to take that mountain town. When they finally punched through Axis defenses they found out where the overwhelming stench was coming from. The German forces had piled hundreds of dead bodies, civilians, women and children, allied troops and their own dead, in the roadways to block them.

Lifeless eyes had stared at him from gray and bloated faces. Bucky had lost the contents of his stomach right there on the streets, as had several others.

The German and Italian troops had somehow known the American forces wouldn't just drive their tanks over the bodies.

That scene was something Bucky knew he would always remember, probably more so than their own wounded men they'd been forced to leave to die on the beaches the first day or when they had ended up staring down the barrels of panzer tanks as they tried to hold Gela.

He could still smell the stench of it, even here, more than a hundred miles away.

Bucky's stomach turned and he pushed the thoughts back. He turned over the letter in his hands as he righted himself and headed back to camp. He'd wait for Sam there.

 **New York.  
**  
Rose slipped along the dimly lit, dirty smelling landing, then hurried up another flight of narrow stairs toward her door. When she'd gone to work this morning she had planned to come home and make cookies for her brother. His birthday was tomorrow and oatmeal cookies were his favorite. She had been careful with their sugar and flour rations over the last month for exactly that reason. She still planned to do it, but there was another reason for the quickness of her stride as she stepped up to their door and let herself in then headed straight for the radio. The customary loud crackling noise filled her ears as Rose turned it news would be starting soon.

The fighting in Sicily was finally over. She had heard about it at work this morning, then read about it in the extra edition of _The New York Times_ she had tucked under her arm.

She'd first read about it in a 'War News Summary' on July tenth. Mixed in with news about all the fronts, it hadn't said much really besides the Allied forces had invaded Sicily in the early morning hours.

Two days later, she'd read another article. This one was slightly more in depth, but it was more of battle history of the island itself than information about the actual invasion.

Life went on and people led their daily lives, praying nightly for the men in battle and awaiting news during the day. More articles came out, touching on the subject every day or so and the nightly radio news broadcasters always talked about it. Everyone knew Patton's forces had taken many villages along the southern coast and inland clear to the port of Palermo and that the casualties had been high on both sides. One article even said the beachheads close to Gela and Licata had run red with the blood of American troops. That was the hardest part. Not knowing if someone you knew was among the dead.

She knew several men that were likely there fighting.

Her friend Max's older brothers Gordy and Phillip for instance. Gordy was a member of the 101st airborne and both were veteran's of North Africa. She had since learned the 101st had jumped in to Sicily before the sea invasion started.

Colin O'Rourke was another. He returned from basic a little over a month ago and was promptly loaded onto a ship bound for Europe.

Then there was Sergeant Barnes. She hadn't heard from him in just shy of six weeks and had found herself thinking about him more then the others. She found the uncertain knowledge that Bucky might be there felt different as did the relief that he was hopefully out of danger for now. She hadn't questioned why it felt different knowing he could be there, or why her relief was so much greater, she just knew that it did.

He stayed on her mind as she hurried down the hall to change her clothes and then came back to the kitchen to start supper and make cookies.

 **Six days later  
**  
 _Rose,_

Sorry, it's been so long since I wrote to you, but I've been in Sicily. I'm sure you probably guessed that by now. It's really hot here, way hotter than New York. The Mediterranean is nothing like the Atlantic, the water is the bluest I think I've ever seen and along the sandbars it's an unusual blue green. I'm in Messina and you can see the Italian coast. I thought England was old _as dirt_ _, Sicily is even older. The second day we were here we saw this odd structure of tall pillars with slabs of stone connecting the tops of them. John said it was most likely a Greek temple for Hera or Zeus._

If you wrote back to me after my last letter I haven't received it yet, I probably will eventually though.

How's New York? How'd the All-star game go? I know you don't like baseball but I'm sure you know the score anyway.

We'll be on the move again soon, I'm hoping I hear from you before that, but if not, at least you'll know what's going on. I know I said Irishmen are crazy, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

You don't have to wait to hear from me Rose.

Bucky

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	8. Pick-up Game's and Pugilist's

Hey y'all, I'm so so sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've been really busy with life and stuff. Good news is, this chapter is on the longish side! Thanks so much for the faves, follows and reviews!

I owe some special thanks to my amazing beta and the lovely BouncingKappa! You two are both so patient and helpful! If it wasn't for you guys, this chapter still probably wouldn't be done.

One more thing, this chapter opened immediately after the last so the letter Rose is thinking about is the one in the end of the last chapter!

* * *

 **New York**

Rose sat in the middle of her bed, legs folded in front of her. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window behind her, painting her dark curls a more vibrant shade of red as she read Bucky's letter for the second time since she had found in her mailbox earlier. She'd been anxious to hear from him, but she hadn't realized how much until she walked into her building with Sophie after work and found his letter in the mail. Sophie had accompanied Rose home to borrow a dress for a date she had tomorrow night, with her new fella, Ricky.

Rose had torn the letter open with total disregard for the envelope and her friend's presence and sat down on the steps, reading it right there.

Seeing her name written in his now-familiar handwriting had filled her with relief.

After she read the letter, and looked up to find Sophie gazing at her curiously, Rose was infinitely glad it was Sophie with her and not Max. Max would have taken Rose's actions and ran with it them, not letting up until Rose spilled the beans about who the letter was from. Sophie never said a word.

Rose had tried not to worry as she waited for him to write, but it wasn't always easy. So many others she knew awaited the same thing. Like Max, she still hadn't received word from either of her brothers. Rose had seen that same shadow in so many people's eyes.

Seven days ago, when word had first reached U.S. soil that the fighting in Sicily had ended, everyone had been relieved, but another sort of waiting had started, in the quiet that followed that day. It was almost worse in some ways than waiting for the battle itself to end. No official casualty lists had been released, but they all knew the death toll was high on both sides. While mostly everyone kept their worries to themselves, they all silently feared they'd find the name of a loved one or friend on those lists.

Laying Bucky's letter down on her bed beside her, Rose looked at it a moment more, her thoughts on the words it contained. To anyone who just read his letter, it would seem like everything was fine, but she knew it wasn't. She hadn't known him long and she didn't know him well, but everything wasn't okay. He'd made a couple small jokes, but his words lacked their usual lightheartedness and teasing tone. She couldn't imagine what he had seen and been through in those weeks.

Reaching toward her nightstand, she grabbed the sheets of paper, book to set them on and the pencil she placed there earlier.

She hesitated for a moment before she began, at first writing "Dear Bucky, I was so glad to get your letter," but then crumpling the paper up and starting over.

 _Dear James,_

 _I was so relieved when I got your letter today—_

 **Sicily, six days later**

Bucky sat on the grass, back pressed against the trunk of one of the many olive trees that lined the park not far from where they'd set up camp when they first reached Messina. The thick branches overhead, casting broken shadows over him and the sketch pad he held in his hands. He watched as John, Sam, and Teddy along with a couple other guys from the 107th, tossed around the football John's parents had sent him. One of the other guys was a fresh replacement to D company named Gabriel Jones. Bucky had only talked to him once or twice since he'd arrived but it appeared Mr. Jones had a cannon arm. The other was a blond guy by the name of Thomas Raymond; he'd been with D company the day they stormed the beachheads. Raymond preferred to be called Toro, and once the guys had figured out that Toro meant bull in Spanish there'd been some speculation about where the nickname came from. He was of average height and build so the guys assumed the nickname came from the ladies.

The sun beat down on Bucky's shoulders, warming his skin through his shirt. The air was humid and heavy like normal, but thankfully, he had grown used to it and had finally started to somewhat relax. He no longer heard the echo of artillery fire when there was only silence, or jumped every time he heard a vehicle pass by like he had the first few days after they reached Messina.

Self-preservation made him refuse to think about the horrors he'd seen. They were filed away in the back of his mind, and if a wayward thought did sneak up on him, the images were almost surreal. As if he were looking at them through someone else's eyes. Not everyone had been able to do that though. There were still men fighting battlefield fatigue and waking up every night from a fitful sleep full of gruesome nightmares. Sam was among the latter.

Two nights ago, Bucky had been jarred from sleep by the sound of him screaming. The memory of it raised goosebumps along Bucky's arms for a moment. It had been an almost inhuman wail, mournful and eerie. And for the barest of instants, Bucky had felt himself being pulled back into the horrors of the recent weeks himself, before he snapped out if it, climbed from his cot and woke Sam.

Quickly pushing the thought away, Bucky turned his attention back to the sketch pad in his hand, assessing the drawing of a cobbled square and a fountain surrounded by tall stuccoed buildings. Now that over a week had passed since they had arrived in Messina and the memories of battle had begun to fade, Bucky could see a beauty about the place that had been lost on him in the bloodshed before. It reminded him of how he once imagined the Italian countryside looked when he read Shakespeare in school.

He knew if any of the others saw that he was drawing, they'd give him a hard time. If they knew he was silently comparing Messina to a Shakespearian backdrop, he'd never live it down. Good thing for him they couldn't read minds, and it really didn't matter if they figured out he was drawing. This sketch was for Becks.

She had sent him this pad and pencils upon deciding his descriptive prowess with words was lacking. She wasn't the only pain in his backside back home who complained about the lack of description in his letters, and he'd wondered a few times just what little Miss Rose O'Shea would have to say if he sent her a drawing. He had this idea in his head that it might shut her up for a minute or two, but he honestly didn't believe it. Still, the thought of her speechless was very entertaining.

Thinking of her made him wonder again when he'd get her response to his last letter. He had written to her the day they'd first reached Messina, he hadn't been in the best place mentally and for some reason that made him feel a little anxious about her reply. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and the unpleasant memories it brought with it and focused on his sketch.

One of these days, he might have to send her a drawing just to see what she had to say.

As for his sister, he had drawn others pictures for her before now, hastily scribbled ones of a farm in England or a cathedral, usually done from memory. He had also drawn her one of the strange looking pine trees that dotted the Sicilian countryside. He'd learned they were called Stone Pines, but where the name came from he wasn't sure. He wondered though, if the name didn't come from the way you saw lot of them in the rockier region's of the branches all grew outward from high up the trunk, making them look more like leaf-bearing trees than ones that had needles. No doubt his odd little sister would find them interesting.

This was the first time since he left home he had drawn her a picture while looking at what he was drawing.

Like most kids, he had drawn pictures when he was young, but art class had been Steve's idea. Bucky had agreed because Steve wanted to go and because of the women. The edge of Bucky's lips turned slightly upward with the memory.

One day after a couple months of classes, this pretty young blonde had walked into the classroom, wearing nothing but a long silk robe and a smile.

Steve had turned an uncomfortable shade of red, from the collar of his shirt clear to the tips of his ear, and instantly started fidgeting, looking at anything but the girl.

"Looks like we're finally getting to the good stuff," had been Bucky's response, to which Steve had turned a darker shade of red.

The girl hadn't posed in the nude. She simply sat down, letting her robe fall artfully off her shoulders and exposing one leg, but she might as well have for all of Steve's embarrassment. Bucky, however, had never done finer work. Chuckling softly, his pencil paused on the paper. Bucky had thought for a moment his shy friend was going to run from the room.

He still hadn't heard from Steve and that knowledge quickly chased the smile away. He reminded himself he hadn't written to Steve either. Honestly, he hadn't known what to say after the way he had left him the night of the Stark Expo. The next morning Bucky had searched the crowd of people who had gathered on the dock to see off their loved ones off before he'd boarded the ocean-liner-turned-troopship that would carry him to England, hoping to find Steve's face among them. That hadn't been the plan, but Bucky had just wanted to see his friend one last time.

"Watch it!" John shouted, drawing his attention and pulling him from his thought. He watched as the football landed less than a foot from where he sat. He leaned over and grabbed the ball, throwing to Sam as he ran toward him.

"Hey, Picasso! I thought you were supposed to be a football star. Why don't you stop doodling and get your ass over there." The voice came from behind him but it was familiar enough he'd know it anywhere.

"Wear out your welcome with the nurses, did ya?" Bucky said with just a hint of sarcasm as he looked over his shoulder and met the twinkling green eyes of Dum Dum Dugan. Dugan had been sick a few days ago. It wasn't the malaria plaguing the camp, but he had to go back for a check up.

Eyeing the sketch pad in Bucky's lap and ignoring his retort, he asked, "Which one of your lady friends is that for?"

Grinning broadly, he said, "My best one." He could have just said my sister, but where was the fun in that.

"I didn't think you played favorites."

"You know, you really aren't looking so good maybe you should go back to the hospital. " Bucky said as he stood, taking several steps backwards toward John and the others, he snapped his sketch book closed in the process.

"Where you going?" Dugan asked.

"Taking your advice."

 **New York**

Rose moved out of the flow of the foot traffic, milling up and down the dirty sidewalks of Hell's Kitchen and into the entrance of an alley that separated two of the many weathered brick businesses lining the street. It was Saturday and warm outside, and the streets were packed with people going about their business. Sighing, she awkwardly balanced the medium sized wooden crate they had placed her purchases in at the rationing office on her left arm. Slipping her free hand into the pocket of her dark blue dress, she fished around for her shopping list, amid the other things tucked inside. She kept thinking she had forgotten something and knew the nagging feeling wouldn't leave until she read the list.

Like any sister would be, she was always anxious and jittery in the days leading up to Mick's fights. She was always a little scatterbrained if she wasn't careful to keep her mind occupied elsewhere. She knew he could take care of himself; he always did, but that didn't mean she had to like the idea of him possibly getting beaten to a bloody pulp either and this time her anxiety was worse than it would normally be.

She pulled the paper out of her pocket, managing to leave her ration book and the candy bar she'd bought behind. Dismissing her worry for a moment, she quickly read the neatly comprised list.

One dozen eggs, milk, powdered milk, lard, yeast, oatmeal, sausage, bacon, salt pork, potatoes, cabbage, apples, and wax paper.

She had mentally checked her list several times since she'd left the butcher shop a few minutes ago and just like she thought, the only thing she didn't have that she wanted was the salt pork. She skimmed over the list a second time, just for good measure.

Excepting the fact she probably wouldn't know what she'd forgotten till the most inconvenient moment, like when she needed it, she dropped the note in the crate this time and shifted the box so it rested on both arms as she started down the busy sidewalk again. Her mind instantly traveled back to her earlier thoughts.

Normally, she just shoved her worry to the back of her mind and didn't think about Mick's fights too much, but today had had other plans for her apparently.

When she'd left the house this morning she had been anxious about the fight tonight, but like normal she had filed the worry away and concentrated on the errand's she needed to run so she could get home quickly and get Mick's lunch. She had had four stops to make. Landlord, rationing office, dry goods store, and the butcher shop. The second was always a slow stop, but her errands in general had taken much longer than planned. Everywhere she went, except the rationing office, people wanted to talk about Mick and his fight.

Fights like this one weren't uncommon on either side of the East River in the immigrant neighborhoods. There was at least one every weekend and her brother was just one of the many who participated, but this one stood out.

Mick was fighting Dominic Decoco, a big Italian guy from the Bronx with a nasty reputation. Rumor had it that Decoco's last two opponents had landed in the hospital. Mick had a bit of a reputation himself, but nothing like that. Rose had asked him if the rumors were true, "Don't fash y'erself Roe, I'll be fine," was his response. Rose hadn't found his words, at all reassuring, but she didn't push the matter.

Mick firmly opposed Rose ever watching him fight; he always maintained it wasn't a fit place for a young girl or self-respecting lady to be. Despite how she felt about Mick's wishes, her opinion on this subject was one of the few things she didn't argue with him about. Today she wanted to, though. She had a firm belief in the possibility that if he'd ever just let her watch a fight, she might not get so anxious. Tonight she knew she would drive herself crazy, worrying about the outcome long before he got home and she could see for herself what kind of shape he was in.

It seemed like everyone that had the lettuce for it was placing bets and saying how people would be talking about this fight for years to come.

Quickening her pace, she forced her worries aside, focusing instead on getting home in time to at least get Mick's lunch started before he came home to eat it.

But it was not to be. As she stepped up the door of her apartment building, she felt someone grab her sides. Rose let out a startled yelp, her heart instantly dancing a jig. Loud booming laughter filled her ears seconds later. She didn't need to turn and look up to know who it was, nor see the wholly-pleased-with-himself smirk that would light the face to know it was there. One of the hands that had grabbed her slipped past her and opened the door as she turned.

"Scare't ya, didn't I," Mick said, in a laughing voice as Rose glared up at him, despite the good-natured smile tugging at her lips.

No more concerned with the scowl she sent in his way than she expected him to be, his attention dropped to the box in her arms. "Get me anything good?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I did, after that one, Michael Patrick O'shea," she retorted. Watching the playful spark in his eyes grow, she somehow managed to keep the scowl she adopted firmly on her face and her tone serious. She had learned to keep the candy she bought out of his reach or else she wouldn't get more than a bite.

Chuckling again, he slipped past her and made his way toward the mailboxes built into the wall of the dingy entry.

She stepped inside, not sparing him a glance as she made her toward the stairs and started to climb. Hurrying to catch her on the steps he dropped the mail into the box, taking it from her to dig through the contents.

Rose kept walking.

"I know you got something sweet somewhere," Mick called after her.

"Why would you think that, brother?"

Ignoring her question, he followed along behind her. "Where is it, then?" The question was punctuated by a large chomp as he bit into an apple and the smile she'd been repressing finally bloomed on her face. "I was going to make you a pie today."

Taking another loud bite, he said around the apple filling his mouth, "One apple won't make a difference."

 **Sicily**

Keeping himself open, Bucky ran down field, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his t-shirt. The noise of the crowd that had gathered on the sidelines filled the air. Bucky watched over his shoulder as John tossed the football to Teddy. Teddy nearly fumbled it, but he managed to keep control and tried to throw a lateral pass to Gabe Jones only to be tackled the second it left his hand. In turn, the ball was intercepted by Sergeant Mannox, who immediately threw it in Bucky's general direction, meaning it for Toro. Bucky started moving quicker.

After Dugan's Picasso wisecrack earlier, John had suggested they play and what had started out as a friendly pickup game had turned into a heated competition and drew a crowd. The Brits watched in curiosity, but the Canadian and American troops cheered loudly. One of the things Bucky liked most about school was playing football; he was good at it. When the game had grown more serious it awoke the competitive side of Bucky's nature and that was part of what made him good.

Squinting against the sun, he kept one eye on the ball flying through the air toward him and the other on the men charging in his direction.

He was determined to intercept the pass before Raymond could catch it.

Luckily for Bucky, he was leaner and faster than other man, but if Raymond tackled Bucky, he was built like a bull so it was probably going to hurt. And Bucky had already been tackled a half a dozen times or so since they had started playing and he had the bruises to prove it.

Bucky caught the pig skin, tucked it under his arm and sprinted down the length of the grass toward the waist high stone wall covered in a vine of roses that had been labeled the end zone, dodging others as he went.

Lt. Raine was fast approaching on Bucky's right. For a split second Bucky thought he was going down until John arrived just in time, catching the private in the side. Teddy was there less than a second later, throwing himself on the other two men.

Without missing a stride, Bucky jumped over the pile of men and sprinted the last few yard to the end zone, the other twenty-one players fast on heels. A cheer went up in the crowd.

Bucky dropped the ball just as a hand landed squarely in the center of his back, nearly knocking him down. Sam grabbed his shoulders at the same time and squeezed, "Way to go, Sarge!"

 **~oOo~**

Rose wasn't any closer to admitting she had chocolate, and though Mick had moved on from that, his pestering hadn't stopped. In between bites of his apple, he had asked her why she wasn't already home with his lunch made and pie cooked like any good little sister would be. She refrained from telling him, it was because everywhere she went people wanted to talk about his fight. Instead she let his infectious good mood distract her.

Once they were inside she grabbed an apron from a hook on the kitchen wall, hurried down the hall and into her room, leaving Mick in the kitchen. She slipped the apron on, securing the strings around her waist then made her way toward her dresser. Picking up a wide yellow ribbon from the top of it she slipped it under her curls and secured it in place.

"Micah O'Brian wants to know if you're dating anyone. Actually, he wanted to know if you were rationed. It took me a good minute to figure out what that meant," Mick called from the kitchen. Before Rose could make any sort of response he went on. "I told him it didn't matter, 'cus my sister wouldn't be dating a man that uses words like rationed."

A smile tugged at her lips as she looked at her reflection in the small mirror above her dresser ajusting the wide yellow ribbon holding her hair back from her face, opening her top dresser drawer she tucked the candy bar safely inside and left her room.

"I also told him he was too late anyway, you'd been swapping letters with some Brooklyn boy for weeks now."

Almost missing a step, Rose face flamed red. "What?!"

She should be use to his teasing by now. Rose wasn't a complete ninny, she knew she'd sealed her own fate that first day when she'd turned red as a beet and ran down the hall to her room. Mick had seen an opportunity and, never one to pass up a chance to pester and embarrass his sister, he had teased Rose incessantly for two days about her "mysterious letter." She had hoped his silence after the first couple days meant he had forgotten, but a few days later when she was checking the mail, Mick happened along behind her, snatched it from her hands and read every envelope addressed to her.

Most unfortunately for Rose, Mick had gotten his hands on the third letter she received from Bucky before she saw it. He made a great show of giving it to her. They were in the kitchen and he said her name, a deceptively innocent tone to his voice, one Rose had learned to be cautious of long ago. When she looked up at him, his eyes were twinkling slightly and he asked, "Would you be interested in a letter from Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th, little sister?"

It had taken her less than a half a second to realize blushing was the worst thing she could do, but it was too late. Mick's eyes were already dancing with mischief and she knew he would never let this go. She had opened her mouth to say we are just friends, but her brother was like a dog with a bone, so she closed it quickly, knowing anything she could say would be used against her. He had made her reach for the envelope three times before he actually let her have it.

Finally, after a lot of teasing, she gave Mick a version of the truth, leaving out that she only met him once and that he'd caught her stealing someone's wallet. She told him she met Bucky just before he was deployed and that he was from Brooklyn.

"You want me to tell Micah to come calling then?" Mick asked, abruptly halting Rose's thought. Not giving her time to absorb this remark, let alone reply, he said, teasingly, "So ya are serious about the Sergeant then?"

Red faced and exasperated, Rose placed her hands on her hips as she stepped into the kitchen, her eyes instantly alighting on Mick's back and said, "No, I don't want Micah to come calling and the other is n..." Her voice trailed off as he turned and met her gaze, his face was ashen, gone was laughter of moments ago. Mick looked down and her eyes followed.

Rose froze, her heart rate picking up, even as her stomach dropped and all the air in her lungs suddenly disappeared. She didn't have to be holding the long yellow envelope in Mick's hand herself to know what it contained. It was a Classification Letter. He had just been drafted.

 **Later that day, Sicily**

Bucky left the mess hall, an amused smile on his lips. The late evening sky was painted red with the promise of another nice day tomorrow. The game had been close but his side had won in the end. He'd thought Jones had a cannon arm before but he'd seen it up close, since he'd been on the receiving end of Jone's pass to end zone that won the game. Just thinking about it made Bucky want to laugh. The field they'd used to play the game was a decent size but not as large as football field, but that pass must have been thirty-five yards and had left both sides in a little awe.

The mood had stayed lighthearted and infectious since the game ended and Bucky could still hear the laughter and boasting going on inside the Mess as he made his way toward the tent that he shared with his men.

Alert to every sound like recent weeks had taught him to be, heard the soft sound of crunching gravel before he heard the voice. "Hey, Barnes, I got something for you!" He looked up to find private Melon hurrying toward him, a stack of letters in his hand. "I was just on my way to your bunk, but this is the only letter I've got for your tent." He explained as he drew closer and handed one of the envelopes to Bucky. "That was a hell of a game."

"Yeah it was." Bucky replied, his attention on the letter as he opened it.

"I'll see you around," Melon said as he headed off.

 _Dear James,_

 _I was so relieved to get your letter today. I hope this one reaches you before you get sent somewhere else again, to. I did write to you after I received your last letter and I did assume you were in Sicily. I would love to see temples like the one you mentioned someday and the Mediterranean sounds beautiful._

 _Have you seen any octopus? I know you probably think that's an odd question, but I saw pictures of them in a magazine years ago and I do find them rather fascinating..._

 _The National League beat the American League, five to three. Would you believe I even listened to the game?_

 _Maybe I took your advice and decided not to knock it till I tried it?_

 _If that is the case, it doesn't, in anyway, mean I will be running off to watch a game._

 _I'm good and New York is... Well, New York. Nothing ever changes much. I know I told you Mick boxes. He has a fight coming up and he's been training most every night so it's been a little quiet and humdrum around the house in the evenings._

 _It's been nice out the last few days, particularly last weekend so I went to Coney Island with my friend Sophie and her fella. Sophie likes her feet firmly on the ground, but we did manage to talk her into riding the Hoopla! She flipped her lid. The Steeplechase is her favorite ride, but we couldn't even get her to ride that after the Hoopla so we just went to the dance hall. It was a lot of fun!_

 _No one spilled their drink on me all evening, imagine that._

 _Everybody has a favorite ride so what's yours?_

 _By the way and purely out of curiosity, was that an invitation to write to you as much as I want?_

 _I really am glad you're all right Bucky, I was worried._

 _Rose_


End file.
